


Comfort

by BrynTWedge



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Greg has a rough day, M/M, Mycroft makes it better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 18:37:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20840153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrynTWedge/pseuds/BrynTWedge
Summary: Greg has a terrible day, and then gets a lovely surprise at the end of it.





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Paia_Loves_Pie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paia_Loves_Pie/gifts).

> Hope this brightens your day, Paia!

It was a shocker of a day. A new case – the murder of a ten year old – began his day; young people were always hardest to investigate, and the grief around the case was always suffocating.

Then the coffee machine broke, leaving him without anything but tea until he snapped and ordered a constable to do a coffee run to wherever was closest.

Mycroft was still overseas. He was due back tomorrow, and it was the only thing getting Greg through the day until Anthea called him and said that Mycroft was going to be two days late.

It hadn’t even hit midday by this stage when he got the call that Sherlock needed him to bail him out. He didn’t have it in him to argue, nor did he have much tolerance for the condescending attitude of the detective as he complained from his cell downstairs.

He took his lunch break as soon as Sherlock had been released and feathers smoothened, ready to have a cigarette and maybe a sandwich. That was when he realised he’d left his pack at home, having promised Mycroft to try and avoid them, and there wasn’t any in his secret stash. He was in no mood for Sally to keep up her promise she’d made to him earlier in the week to not let him buy any cigarettes no matter how he shouted.

Greg just closed the door to his office, drew the blinds, and called Mycroft. He knew he’d get voicemail, and so had no reservations about whimpering into the phone. He was honest when he said he didn’t know how he was going to make it until Thursday, that it was only Monday and he wanted to quit, and that he would just stay at work to avoid going to the empty house.

He sniffled and gained his composure, opened up the blinds again, and sat at his desk.

~

It had just gone six, and Greg sent his team home. He selfishly thought that he should have kept a few people around just so it wouldn’t feel so lonely, but he told himself to think of their lives. _They_ at least had people needing them home at a decent hour.

He sighed and trudged through the breakroom back to his office. The day hadn’t gotten better.

He stopped dead at his doorway, blinking to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. The room was lit with a warm glow from a lamp that hadn’t been there before, plus a myriad of candles burning. His desk had been turned into a dining table, coated in a tablecloth and adored with cutlery, a bottle of wine, candles, and flowers. Drapes had covered the various windows to block out the office scenery, leaving the place feeling very intimate and secluded.

The best part of it all, by far, was his partner siting on the other side of the table, smiling at him.

“Mycroft,” Greg breathed, his throat closing up. He didn’t have it in him to ask anything more; he just opened his arms and took a step forward.

Mycroft quickly embraced him. The hug was warm and firm; everything he needed to make up for just how shit of a day he’d had. No one before in his life had ever been so considerate towards him – the most he’d hoped for was someone who’d be only mildly annoyed that Greg had to work late or be drawn down from cases. Mycroft went out of his way to do nice things for him and Greg still felt that he didn’t deserve such treatment.

“When I heard your message, I had to come right away,” he spoke into his ear.

“What about the whatever you were doing?” Greg replied, still holding him.

“Anthea can take care of it.”

They broke apart and Mycroft kissed him tenderly. Greg leaned into the soft touch of a thumb on his cheek, wiping away a tear of relief that had escaped.

“Come, I have brought your favourite.”

“I love you, Myc. Honestly. I-I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you.”

“Just being you.”

Mycroft led him to the table, pulled the chair out for him, and then poured him a glass of wine, informing him that he was now off-duty. Greg didn’t argue.

The dishes Mycroft put on the table from the bookshelf smelled divine, and were opened to reveal various Indian foods – some entrées, two curries, a bowl of rice, and a plate of bread. Greg smiled seeing it. “You even got rice _and_ bread for me,” he commented, remembering Mycroft’s usual insistence that only one carbohydrate was needed.

“And I even have some gulab jamun for dessert,” Mycroft said proudly. “Now, enjoy your meal without thinking about what happened today. You can tell me all about it when we’re home on the couch, but for now… let it just fall behind you.”

“It’s easy to enjoy the moment when it’s so full of rich flavours.” Greg hummed gratefully when he took a first bite of the curry. “Wonderful.”

~

Greg felt much lighter that night. His stomach was full, and he’d gotten the events and frustrations of the day off his chest. Mycroft was attentive and caring, and had given him a massage once he’d finished. Now they lay cuddled up together with some soft music on in the background.

“Thank you for today,” Greg said quietly. “It means the world.”

“You’d do the same for me,” Mycroft responded. “And you have done, remember. It is completely my pleasure.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Nor I.”

As they lay there, Greg half atop Mycroft’s chest, Mycroft’s long fingers stroked up and down his back. It was soothing. They were both too full to do much else.

“You know what I just realised?” Greg asked with a chuckle. Mycroft made an inquisitive hum. “We never cleaned up my office,” he answered. “It still looks like a romantic table at an Indian restaurant.”


End file.
